Romione Prompt Fics
by AzaleaBlue
Summary: A collection of prompt-based one-shots I'm writing on Tumblr. Rating and genres change for every fic. In general Fluff, and in some cases, mild angst. Romione only. Rated T to be safe. R&R, please?
1. Sharing a drink

_a/n : Written for Remedial-potions aka bowtruckles_

**Sharing a Drink**

It was just a mug of butterbeer.

A non-descriptive one of Madame Rosmerta's, really. Nothing fancy, nor special in appearance or content, merely a vessel for a bright and bubbly amber-colour beverage with a luxurious foamy top, something Ron had previously had scores of times if not more. To anybody present at the little pub, the day would seem nothing out of the ordinary except perhaps that it was a pleasant sunlit Saturday afternoon, a Hogsmead day for the hundreds of Hogwarts students who were trying their best to make up for the Umbridge-rule that was prevailing in school recently. Yes, in a way it was quite special.

But for Ron, everything was different- special in fact- for _reasons_, reasons he could barely admit to himself let alone confess them to another.

"I think these spells would be the best ones to start with, in the next meeting," Hermione told Harry, who in turn seemed to be lost in thoughts, staring at the table at the far end of the room. Ron would have glanced and tried to figure out what the bloke found more interesting than Dumbledore's Army- if only he could divert his attention from _that one mug._

As it so happened, the said mug was _his_\- up until a few minutes ago when Hermione had absentmindedly grabbed it instead of her own. And she had taken a deep swig from exactly the same spot where he had… Suddenly his throat felt a little too parched. Ron gulped and took a deep steadying breath. His heart throbbing away like the school band wasn't making things easy.

Hermione was still scribbling away on a piece of a parchment muttering to herself, unaware that both his and Harry's attention was elsewhere. Slowly he grabbed the mug towards himself and took another swig. The beverage bubbled its way down his throat and made him giddy in a way he had never experienced before. Confused, he placed it back on the table quickly and stared at it, hard. _Woah, did the butterbeer taste different or had he lost his mind? _

"That dumb toad," muttered Hermione all to herself as she scribbled a little too furiously, almost poking the parchment with her quill. "I'm expecting a few more Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs to join us in the next few days. I need more coins," she informed them, eyes still glued on the list in front of her.

And once again, just like before, she grabbed_ his_ mug and took a sip, a deep one this time. Sitting right next to her, Ron exhaled slowly, hoping his very best that she wouldn't notice the ridiculous reddening of his ears. But of course, Hermione was way too busy with her work. She placed the butterbeer back, more than half of it gone, shared between the two of them. Ironically, Hermione's own mug was sitting right at her left, very much in view. But, Ron told himself that she _could_ have missed or assumed it was Harry's. There could be no other explanation for what was happening. He wasn't complaining though. Not yet, not until she figured that he had already noticed.

Once again, he picked up the mug carefully, glancing once at Harry who had his head turned in such an odd angle that Ron was sure the bloke would end up with a horrible sprain in his neck. He took another sip, a small one this time, and placed it back on the table, a bit more towards her. Hermione spent an inordinate amount of time scribbling this time while the butterbeer warmed up, lost its fizz and the foam all died down. Finally, when Ron had silently questioned his life's choices and admonished himself a thousand times over, she picked it up again. This time she drained it completely and dropped the empty mug right next to her almost full mug.

It was a bloody miracle that Ron did not combust into a flaming ball of fire right there and then, out of sheer nerves.

Oblivious to everything, Hermione rolled up her scroll, capped the bottle of ink and placed everything neatly inside her bag before looking up at Harry.

"You are hopeless," she declared with an exasperated sigh and then turned to Ron. "If he doesn't manage to tell Cho soon, we'll have to do something," she said matter of factly before picking up her sling bag.

"Let's go?" Harry replied sheepishly, suddenly in a hurry to leave. Ron, still staring at the empty butterbeer mug and secretly wondering how to secretly nick it, only managed a nod.

"I need to visit the post office and then buy some rolls of parchment," she informed them as they jostled their way out of the pub.

Ron gave one last longing look at their table which was now being cleaned by a young wizard. The mug was gone.

"Yeah, let's get out of here. If we have time, maybe we can visit Hagrid?" he sighed. It was obvious that the bonkers God of Luck had felt a little too kindly towards him today, nothing more, nothing less.

_As the trio left the pub, no one noticed the curly-haired witch grin a little sheepishly to herself as she tied the scarf around her neck, hiding the rising blush._

_…__._


	2. An abandoned or empty place

_a/n: written for trademarkblue aka tmblue_

**An Abandoned or Empty Place**

The dilapidated house stood alone at the edge of Old St Mellons, on the eastern edge of Cardiff, Wales. It was a quaint little village comprising mainly of 19th-century buildings. When the trio arrived there at the end of February, the weather was still quite pleasant during the day if a little cold during the night, a welcome change from the chill, snow and frost they faced up north.

After having lived inside a canvas tent for months, the prospect of having a solid roof over their heads had seemed quite enticing for Harry, Ron and Hermione. But all three of them knew that it could be their 'home' for a precious few days before they had to move again.

The charms and protective spells had been put in place as a priority; it wouldn't do for the villagers to find three 'lost' teenagers living in an abandoned house. Any and all trips to find food were planned for the night, and under the Cloak for added measure. Hermione thankfully had the better judgement to cast a Scorgify in one of the rooms for them to occupy. By the look of the building, Ron was sure there was quite possibly a tiny version of Aragog's family living there. But once they had set up a temporary bedroom by placing their mattresses on the stone floor of what had presumably been a living room, and settled down, he couldn't deny that it felt more homely than a tent that swayed and flapped its door and windows during the weakest of storms.

"We still have to take guard duty," Ron declared as he bolted shut the windows, partly with the loose hanging latches and partly with magic. A storm was beginning to brew in the horizon. "Do we have enough food to last the night?" he asked, dusting his sleeves as he returned to their makeshift beds.

"A tin of biscuits and some weak tea at the most," provided Harry as he Accioed out their meagre food supplies from Hermione's beaded bag.

"And two apples," added Hermione.

Ron looked up and for one brief moment, was suddenly struck by how beautiful she looked fresh out of a bath. And then her much-too-large jumper slid off her shoulder and he looked away guiltily. "You both should have one each in that case. I'll go out foraging later in the night if the storm dies down."

"We share whatever we have," she declared firmly as she tucked the damp curls behind her ears, and picking up the small bag Harry had left on Ron's mattress, dug in to pull out her hairbrush. "Most of the pipes have rusted off and there's no water. I sorted what I could. I think we are good to go for the next two days as long as we remember to put everything back as it was when we leave."

"You mean, damage everything again," prompted Ron.

"Yes," she chuckled. "But I won't deny that a soak did wonder for my aching muscles," she replied, as she walked closer and sat down next to him, brushing the tangles off her hair. The faint aroma of soap and shampoo hung in the air around them. It was blissful. Feeling strangely comfortable, Ron dropped himself on the mattress, face down, Hermione sitting mere inches away from him.

"Hey mate, d'ya think we can sort this thing and light a fire perhaps? What do you say, Hermione?"

Ron turned his head to his left. Harry was currently on his knees, peeping inside an enormous fireplace.

Hermione placed her hairbrush down and turned as well. "I don't know, Harry! We won't be able to hide the smoke, will we?" She turned at him, eyes barely holding back the anxiety that Ron knew lingered just beneath the surface anyway.

He propped himself up on his arms. "Yeah, we could do with Hermione's Bluebell flames, couldn't we?" he replied looking between his two best friends, "Better not have the old folks turning on us with their sticks and stones, eh?"

Harry shrugged and picked himself up, dusting his knees and arms. "Fine, I'll draw myself a bath in that case, and take a nap after that. My turn to take watch, innit?"

"The pipes don't have any water, so you'll just have to use a spell," Hermione told him as Harry began rummaging her bag for his clothes.

"Okay," he mumbled, and having retrieved a tee and pyjama bottoms, went away.

With Harry gone, Ron flopped back, and somehow by a strange coincidence, landed with his head on her lap. For minutes, maybe hours even, they remained still, the silence of the surrounding broken just by the faint howling of the storm outside. Hermione had not taken her eyes off him. He could see her upside-down face, and feel her deep breathing in tune with his. He had apologised days before and he knew, they had come back to some sort of an understanding. But the details were still fuzzy, he still didn't know where they stood, didn't really have the guts to ask if she'd ever take him back- hoped she knew that he'd wait for an eternity for it if need be.

"I-" he began, struggling to phrase an apology, craving to blurt out a confession he knew he wasn't allowed.

"It's okay," she said quietly, and then, as if straight out of his dreams, threaded her fingers in his hair. He closed his eyes in bliss. "This feels a bit like home, doesn't it?" he mumbled lazily after a while.

Her fingers paused and he heard the softest of sobs; he was up in a flash, even before the heartbeat passed.

"Hermione?" he asked, and then, very cautiously placed his palm on her cheek, tilting her face up a smidge to meet her eyes. "What's the matter?"

She seemed to struggle with the words for a while before she spoke. "What if, y'know, they attacked my parents' place too?" she whimpered, "This is how my home would look, wouldn't it?"

He exhaled heavily, his inner turmoil struggling to break free. "They are safe," he promised, his thumb stroking her cheek, "You took care of them like no one else could, Hermione."

"They'll be okay, won't they, Ron?" she asked again, as if begging him to assuage her fears, biting her quivering lower lip. He had visualised many situations where Hermione bit her lips; this didn't come anywhere close. He ached to pull her into his arms, not that he was allowed.

"They'll be fine, and we will be too, all of us," he replied, with enough conviction to convince her as well as himself.

She sucked in a deep breath and nodded once. Slowly and reluctantly he pulled his hand away, fisting his fingers tightly, and placing it on his lap to avoid touching her. "Should I get you some tea?" he asked.

"Maybe later," she replied with the faintest of smiles, her left hand playing with the hem of her jumper, the right resting next to her on the makeshift bed.

He quietly contemplated on his next course of action. What he truly desired was to stay close, wrap her in his arms. What he was allowed was pulling away before she initiated the distance.

"Get some rest," he suggested at last and pushed himself back.

"Ron?"

"Hmm?"

"Mind if I, y'know…"

As he looked curiously she inched closer, and then, as if gathering all her strength, lowered her body on the mattress, her head resting on his thighs, the slightly damp curls sprawled over them. He sucked in a breath and met her eyes. There was a smile lingering on her lips. At that moment, she could have said those words, he knew instinctively, but she didn't- she didn't need to. Instead, she closed her eyes and snuggled deeper as she turned to her left. His fingers found their way into her hair, threading through the soft curls, and she sighed contently. So did he.

The house was broken down and abandoned for sure, but for Ron and Hermione that night, it felt like home.

...


	3. Broken glass

_a/n: written for honouraryweasley12_

**Broken Glass**

**It** started off as one of their usual banters, mindless bickering they were both familiar with and accustomed to, the same ones Harry secretly called their personalised foreplay. All was good. And then suddenly it wasn't.

Ron had no clue when or where it went downhill. One minute they were both laughing as they argued, and then the next it had turned south. And now, Hermione had locked herself in their bedroom, the door shut loudly behind her. He sat with arms crossed at his chest, on their living room couch, still mad at her for no particular reason but a part of him telling him to stop acting like a jerk.

"Fuck you, Ron, she's tired. Give her a break," he muttered to himself. But he was tired too, exhausted to his very bones. The past few weeks had been extra hard on them, demanding careers keeping them apart for more hours than either liked, draining them emotionally and physically.

He knew what he needed- a long nap, followed by a few days of doing absolutely nothing, his Mum's cooking if he was lucky.

And Hermione every step of the way. A long nap with her in his arms, lazing away in the sun while she read a book or two(or many for that matter), dinner at the Burrow with his family and coming home and making love to her until both fell asleep, exhausted but content.

_Blimey, nothing in his world would ever be complete without her, would it?_

He pushed himself off, and tired though he was, made his way to their tiny kitchen. It wasn't stocked as well as his Mum's. The two of them were barely home these days to enjoy a homemade meal.

He fumbled through the cupboards searching for compatible ingredients to make something- _anything_. He found some flour, a couple of eggs, milk and some cheese. They really need to buy groceries. _Bloody hell, how long had it been since the two of them spent some time here, prepping a meal, enjoying the laughter and the occasional nonsensical banter? Weeks. _His heart ached. He was determined to make up to her and get her something to eat, pancakes in the very least.

He began rummaging the cupboards earnestly for sugar. _Surely they had some?_He'd have gone out to fetch groceries to make her a decent meal, but leaving home right after a fight was not something he did, not anymore, not till he made up and told her that he was coming back to her.

_Bloody fucking hell, was he a wizard or not?_ He hastened back to their small living space and grabbed his wand from the couch, making his way back quickly to the kitchen.

"Accio sugar jar!"

The good part was that they had sugar after all. The bad part was that at some point in time, one of them had placed the champagne glasses right in front of them. They fell out of the shelf right as the jar zoomed out right into his hands. The delicate flutes landed on the floor with a loud crash, shattering into a thousand pieces, leaving glittering specks of glass littered across the kitchen floor.

"FUCK!" he swore aloud, unable to take a step for there was glass everywhere.

"RON?!"

"HERMIONE, WAIT! THERE'S GLASS EVERYWHERE!" he yelled aloud.

She came to a staggering halt at the door. Ron shrugged guiltily. "Sorry, I just couldn't find any sugar," he explained weakly, pointing at the jar in his hand, "Just wanted to make something for you," he added quietly.

He noticed her worried expression relax. "You are absolutely barmy, aren't you?" she chuckled, shook her head and pulled out her wand.

"About you? Yes. Absolutely. But you know that!" he replied, smiling. The tension and exhaustion seemed to melt away at her smile.

A small flick of her wand and the smallest of pieces zoomed back together. Within seconds their champagne glasses were sitting peacefully back on the shelf.

"You aren't hurt, are you?" she asked and moved in, "We should really put these away properly," she added as she took the glasses out.

But Ron had other plans. He dropped the jar on the counter and covered the small distance separating them in two swift strides. Taking the flutes from her hand, he set them away carefully before pulling her in his arms, Hermione fitting snugly as always as if they were always made to fit in seamlessly.

"I am an idiot," he murmured into her hair.

"I know, and so am I," she replied sighing. She wrapped her arms around him and snuggled deeper into his embrace.

"You mean, we are really made for each other kinda crazy?" he chuckled and felt her press her lips to his chest.

"Without a shadow of a doubt," she murmured.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"I'd love to stay this way but… we really need to restock the pantry."

She pulled herself a little to look into his eyes. "You mean we have turned into an old couple? A grocery shopping date? Really?"

His rumbling laughter shook them both. "I can prove to you that I am _not_ an old man. _Yet._"

She looked up, smirking. "When do you intend to prove it, Auror Weasley? Before or after our grocery shopping date?"

Ron didn't answer. Rather, he picked her up in his arms and carried them out of the kitchen.

….


	4. Coming Home

_a/n written for xmayatings_

**Coming Home**

The first time Hermione realised it, she was almost thirteen, a little less naive than she was a year before but excited all the same. She didn't identify it for what it was though. Not till her two best friends reached school in the most dramatic(and idiotic) way possible. She chalked it off for later and busied herself with studies. The feeling got more intense as the year progressed though, gaining strength when _someone burped_ slugs for her and after her experience with the Basilisk, but it was still vague at best and left her confused.

By October of her third year at Hogwarts, the fogginess had begun to melt away, and slowly but steadily she began to figure out what it truly meant. Unfortunately, by the time she thought she understood, Ron had already stopped talking to her. Hence, the realisation only brought about a heartache, something a fourteen-year-old Hermione hardly knew how to deal with.

The summer before the start of their Fourth year was when it suddenly became clear and hopeful(if she was being highly optimistic).

She remembered the day too well.

It was an exceptionally sunny day, crisp and clear. Her trunk was packed, Crookshanks was sitting sullenly in his basket at the foot of her bed and her sling bag lay atop her impeccably made bed. Hermione had barely slept the night before, and yet, she woke up at the crack of dawn. For the sake of her parents, she had waited for an hour before treading out of her room. She truly did feel awful for leaving them so soon but the emotion that had lodged permanently in her heart since her second year was getting stronger.

The trip from her home to the Burrow was long but she enjoyed Mr Weasley's company immensely. She could not wait to reach the Weasley house and almost fooled herself into believing that it was just her curiosity that caused the butterflies in her stomach. She just wanted to see how wizards lived and that was all._ But was it?_

She found her answer soon.

The Burrow was everything she had dreamt of and more. The smells, the sounds, the magic - it was truly mesmerising, in every sense. She had met Mrs Weasley, dumped all her stuff in Ginny's room, watched the twins catch the gnomes- everything was perfect- well, almost.

And then Ron arrived, grumpy and fuming at Percy who had dragged him to the muggle village. As his eyes found her, the frown vanished to be replaced with a lopsided grin and _maybe_ she could have stopped herself from running towards him, avoided wrapping an arm around his lanky and taller-than-before form.

Only, she didn't.

She felt him exhale soundly as she crashed onto his chest, suddenly feeling strange- not uncomfortable - self-conscious and embarrassed, rather. And before she could question herself further, his arms had wrapped around her, lifting her a smidge off her feet, and the feeling she had been trying to figure out for years was suddenly clear as day-_ yes, she had found the place where she truly belonged_.

She told him about it years later, one beautiful summer day, sitting on the banks of the pond near the Burrow.

"That was the day I realised, _you_ were my home," she said, leaning against him, her fingers playing on his thighs. He seemed to suck in a breath at her admission and pulled her closer, his long fingers wrapping themselves at her waist, her back resting against his chest, their feet in the water.

"I could never tell you-" she continued.

"-'cause I was a jerk to you back then," he finished for her.

She chuckled. "I wasn't the very best either, was I."

"You were the best, Hermione. Always. Too good for me," he sighed, "You still are…"

"Too good for you?" she asked softly. "Funny how I feel exactly the same about you."

"You must be kidding," he laughed a little self consciously.

She looked up, meeting his eyes, snuggling deeper into his chest. "I wish you saw yourself through my eyes," she whispered, wrapping an arm around his waist and still craving more closeness, "then you'd know that I could've never chosen anyone else, Ron. I've always felt that I never really belonged anywhere- before _you_."

"Don't you ever, ever say that!" he admonished before grabbing her fiercely. "_You belong here._ This is YOUR world as much as it's mine or Harry's or anyone else's for that matter."

She turned just enough to place a chaste kiss on his lips. "I know. You were the one who told me that, convinced me whenever someone questioned it- whenever I doubted myself."

"This is your birthright," he repeated, "Only idiots would question it."

She smiled, sighing contentedly.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"I've always thought you are barmy for having chosen me but y'know… Thanks, Merlin, you did." He kissed the top of her head as she laughed.

"Thanks Merlin, we found each other, I'd say," she added.

"Merlin, God, Christ, Luck… thank anyone- all of 'em rather."

"Yeah," she replied. "And most of all, thank you for letting me come home to you."

…


	5. An Obscure AU

_a/n: written for the-shiftiest-swiftie_

**An Obscure AU**

**Ti**ny Hermione loved nature, everything from the lush green grass to the colours that bloomed during the spring, and the brilliant shades of orange and red during autumn. The small garden in front of their cottage was picture perfect, trimmed precisely by her father, seasonal flowers growing in manicured little bushes around the perimeter.

However, if she had to choose, she loved the little kitchen garden at the back of their house more. Her mother grew an assortment of vegetables in neat, labelled patches. But that wasn't all. Just where their property ended, the woods began. Her father tended the hedge that marked the boundary separating their perfect little house from the woods. What neither of her parents knew, however, was that beyond the hedge was the place Hermione loved best in the whole wide world.

There was a small, mysterious little gap in the otherwise perfect bushes, small enough for a five-year-old to pass through.

The forest was by far her favourite place in the entire world, not that she had seen much of it, but her heart knew that there couldn't possibly be anyplace prettier. Here everything seemed to grow in a riot of colours and textures, branches and leaves, flowers and fruits, lush moss-covered roots of trees that grew so high that they practically hid away the summer sun. The birds sang, and crickets chipped, and when the wind rustled through the leaves, they played music.

Here lived her best friend.

He came out of nowhere, his brilliant orange hair flaming like the rising sun, eyes blue as a clear day sky, skin white as snow, tiny golden, translucent wings fluttering furiously behind him.

He was a naughty boy and the first time she saw him she hadn't liked him in the least. They were both three at the time, and he was rolling happily on the beach of the little brook that ran through the forest, giggling all by himself.

"You have dirt on your nose!" she had blurted out, shaking her head like her mother did. Mum always said one should keep themselves clean. He didn't seem to know. The boy with the golden wings had rolled his eyes at her before he came fluttering towards her, jiggling and bobbing up and down like he was just learning to fly, still unsure of the direction his wings would carry him. Once he was close enough, he watched her curiously, circling her - and pulled her pigtails. It didn't hurt, but she didn't like it.

Much later he had told her that he was just surprised; he had never seen anyone without wings before.

For reasons her innocent little heart couldn't fathom, Hermione kept the secret of his existence all to herself. But every lazy afternoon was spent in the woods with him. Strangely enough, her parents never seemed to miss or look for her. It suited her just fine.

As they grew older, she brought him books but he wasn't very fond of them. He did like when she read to him though, so they sat under a very old oak tree, and she read to him, stories of the faraway lands and books of magical tales. He laughed and said magic didn't work the way it did in her books. She didn't believe him so he showed her. A little blue flower popped amidst the grass as he blinked. She tried blinking too and when she was upset that it didn't work, he taught her a game. She would choose the colour and they blinked together, little flowers popping all around them one by one, small bits of magic really, for his magic was still not strong enough. Gold and red flowers would bloom all around them and Hermione could pretend she had worked the magic. They would run around together amidst the blooms hand in hand, and it would be the best thing ever. He would learn, he promised, learn well until he could make flowers bloom all over the meadow beyond the hill, flowers in her favourite colours. He would learn to make the birds sing, the plants grow, make snow drift down lazily like she loved- he would learn it all for her.

The days passed and they grew older, her hair reached her waist in curls like tendrils of the vines that hung down their favourite tree, his wings getting stronger, strong enough to bear the weight of two, flapping behind him majestically, all gold and bright with a peppering of small, red stars all over. In all these years, the space in the hedge grew too, accommodating her always and surprisingly, her father who always tended it with so much care never seemed to know.

She always found him waiting for her, and when he sat on the rock by the brook, she thought he resembled the marble statues of the angels in Venice, pure and flawless. He told her about his world and she read to him about hers. Years passed, the bond grew stronger still- two souls from different worlds blended together in ways even Magic herself couldn't explain.

It was her nineteenth year, sometime after the summer had ended when she saw another just like him.

She was pale too but not like him. Her hair all light and straight, reached down to her waist, her wings bright and purple. She came after him, fluttering gracefully, laughter ringing in the woods like tinkling bells, and though she was a sight to behold, Hermione realised she didn't like her the least.

"Oh, Ronald!" the girl giggled, flying around them. Her words seemed to be made of musical notes. "She is not one of us." The notes were shrill, the kind that hurt the ears but mesmerising still.

Hermione clutched her book tighter, glancing quietly at him, pleading. "Does it matter?" she asked, the question directed at the one who stood, his enormous wings folded behind him.

"You don't belong in our world!" the girl sneered. The high notes were getting unbearable.

"She belongs in mine," he replied, blue eyes locked firmly on Hermione's.

The girl laughed. "Oh, you foolish creature! You dream of _him! You don't belong with him, you never will!"_

Hermione looked up, the moisture leaking out of her eyes, an indescribable fear mounting in her.

"Come, leave her! We have to go!" the girl announced, grabbing Ron by the hand, her wings flapping furiously but failing to pull him away.

"Leave," he told the girl.

"You can't stay with her!" she screeched.

"I can if I want to," he replied.

"You don't belong here!" the girl screamed at Hermione. It was still a musical note, but nothing like music- it tore through the quiet murmur of the forest, causing the trees to sway fearfully.

"GO!" he roared and unfurled his wings, wide and strong, and suddenly all the noises seemed to cease. The girl screeched, there was no music this time only agony, and left, yelling words in a language Hermione didn't know. But the forest seemed to understand, and they were scared.

"Go if you must. I'll wait for you here, till the end of time if I have to," Hermione told him. He stretched his hand to touch her cheek, leaned in as if to finally touch his lips to hers. Years worth of longing, or it could have been lifetimes really, burned through her. _What was this need, this yearning? And where would it take her? She did not belong in his world- he didn't belong in hers_.

"She'll tell them and they'll know you are here. If I kiss you like I have craved for years now, I'll leave a mark, a trace of my magic, on your skin and they'll find you sooner," he murmured, sighing, longing dripping from every word.

"What if I don't care?" she asked fiercely.

"I do,"

"I can't leave you!" she pleaded, tiptoeing to meet his height, craving the trace of his magic he could leave on her lips.

"No," he pleaded.

"What's the worst they can do?" she cried.

"Take your memories," he replied, lips quivering, "You'd never know about me…"

"NO!" she screeched, pulling herself away and then crashing on his chest. _Please… _"There's got to be some other way!" she sobbed into his chest, cocooned in his wings.

"I don't know," he told her, holding her flush against himself, "but I'll find out, I promise."

She didn't see him for years. The hedge no longer opened into a woods but a quiet neighbourhood everyone was convinced existed forever.

….

_Ten years later, one bright summer day, as she was walking back to the small flat she owned, she saw a familiar tall figure standing by the lamp post. His hair shone like the rising sun, eyes seemed to have been painted by the clear blue sky, and his fair skin was dotted all over with freckles. _

_He looked human but she knew better._

_Hermione ran like she had never before, right into wide-open arms that were waiting for her. _

_"__Ron!" she sobbed, still encased in his embrace._

_"__Hermione," he breathed into her hair._

_"__I thought I'd never find you!"_

_"__I told you, I'll come back no matter what it took," he replied, pressing his lips to hers. _

_They couldn't take her away from him now, or trace her through his kiss. _

_He missed his magic for a fleeting second for he had always hoped to carry her in his arms as he flew, but in the end, Ron knew he'd trade his wings for her all over again if he had to…. _

_..._


	6. While driving

_a/n:Tumblr Prompt Game: **P: While driving or in/around a car  
**I tried shoving these two dorks in a car; Ron wasn't having it though! written for popsicle181_

...

"Oh, sweet Merlin! I'm not sure about this! I am so not sure about this! Why are we even doing this?!"

It was hilarious. Hermione looked absolutely adorable as she walked a few paces behind him, shaking her head, her curls crackling with energy. She was never comfortable with flying-unless of course, she was in one of those enormous Muggle, metal cages that stayed up Merlin-knew-how -and she'd barely ever take a broom if she could avoid it, but this was the funniest situation by far.

"Come on, Hermione! Told ya, Dad's sure it's fit for flying!" he said grinning, while he dragged the enormous motorbike down the muddy road that led deep into the woods. "And Hagrid's gonna use it for you know what. You'd think dad would know what he was doing, won't he?"

"Yes, but Hagrid is-" she looked around carefully before lowering her voice. She needn't have, they were far away from the village and the road was empty anyway "- a you-know-what! We aren't! What if, what if the spells die mid-flight?" she explained, throwing her hands up before crossing them at her chest again, shaking slightly. "Merlin knows, even if Hagrid falls from the sky, he will just injure whatever he lands on. What about us?!" She looked up and shuddered, patting her jeans at the pocket where, he knew, her wand was hidden.

"You're barmy! The bike was always meant for flying, ever since Sirius owned it!"

"Exactly my point!" she reiterated, "This-this thing-" she waved furiously at the bike, "-is _old_! Older than us, in fact! How can you be sure it won't chuck us off from the sky?!"

He laughed causing the machine to sway precariously before steading it hurridly. _Blimey, the bugger was heavy!_ and it had to be, he reckoned, it was going to be used by a half-giant, after all. _How on earth did Sirius ride it anyway?_

"If it's any consolation, the twins have tested it once already," he furnished, glancing once.

She stopped abruptly as if stunned, and stared at him, exasperated, "You call _THAT_ a consolation?!" She glared hard at the bike, seemingly scanning it for any unwanted spells his brothers could have cast on it, and shook her head, muttering incoherently under her breath.

"Come on!" he laughed, "they won't tamper with this thing- I hope!"

She looked into his eyes, and then with a loud, dramatic sigh, started walking again.

They covered the short distance soon and once they were safely hidden, she paused right next to him. "Do we really have to?" she asked in a very small voice, and despite the lighthearted banter which he was thoroughly enjoying, her sight tore at his heartstrings.

"Was really hoping you'd enjoy it-" he said softly, "-but if it bothers you so much, then you don't have to, okay?"

"So we can go back?" she asked, blushing causing his neck to heat up. His heart did a strange kinda jig at her expression.

"Dad really wanted me to check it out one last time. Maybe you can wait for me here while I take it for a spin?" he asked but she looked conflicted. "It's okay," he assured her.

He kick-started the machine and swung one long leg over as the motor roared into life, breaking the quiet of the surrounding. The sidecar wasn't attached yet as his dad was adding some 'crucial finishing touches' to it. Whatever that meant. He turned his head to the left and noticed Hermione was rubbing her arms together, eyebrows scrunched.

"It's broad daylight. You'll be seen," she said at last.

"Oh! Didn't I tell ya? Dad's cast a protection shield around the perimeter of the Burrow. As long as I stay within a hundred feet from the ground, I'll be okay."

"Oh,"

"See you in a bit?" he smiled at her and forcing away the tiny regret in his heart, looked back at the bike. His dad had really drawn inspiration from the muggle magazines. Where earlier there were only knobs, now it had a neat little display showing speed and altitude.

He turned the handles and the monster roared again. He turned to wave at Hermione but she wasn't standing next to him anymore- instead, there was a soft pressure at his shoulder, and with a small huffed she lifted herself up, taking the seat behind him.

"I thought you didn't fancy taking a ride?" he asked quietly. How he wished, his dad had taken a little more inspiration and added some rearview mirrors. He could almost feel her blush as she scooted closer.

"I wasn't going to let you test it all by yourself now, was I?" she replied, voice shaking and yet determined. He could feel her face quite close to his ear, and she had not let go of his shoulder.

"Hold on," he managed and swallowed thickly when an arm wrapped around his waist.

The motorbike rolled down the forest ground for a fair few yards and Ron stepped on the accelerator, and turned the handlebar to take flight. The machine roared and sped ahead before leaping swiftly into the air. As they began the ascend, Hermione's grip became tighter. It was almost the same as a broom only they being lighter, it was easier to keep a broom in flight than the enormous machine they were currently riding, Once the altimeter showed eighty feet, he steadied it and they began circling widely just above the trees.

"You okay back there?" he yelled over the sound of the motor.

Hermione was practically glued to him, both her arms gripping him hard at the waist, her body flush against his back. If he wasn't secretly worried that a slip of attention could kill them, he'd have been able to cherish the moment a little more.

"I-am—fineee!" she replied, her teeth chattering.

He slowed down as much as he could before he spoke again. The wind against his face made him feel free and lighter than he had in days.

"Try 'n relax, Hermione!" he yelled, turning his head a smidge towards her, "I swear I won't let anything happen to you." His heartbeat thudded at his bold confession, and unable to figure out what to say next, he took another turn as gently as he could manage.

"I know you won't…"

If there was any chance of them falling off the bike, this was it. It gave a shudder as his grip on the handlebars slacked for a moment, but he managed to hold on.

"Sorry for that," he muttered. _Blimey, only when she had declared her trust in him, he had to go and mess it up. What a moron!_

"You know, if I imagine us riding through the mountains and the lush green meadows, this doesn't seem so bad."

Ron was immensely grateful for the ruckus the bike was creating; it drowned the mad thudding of his heart.

"We could do that sometime, y'know when all this is behind us," he replied, hopefully, and then chickened out and added the rest. "Once Dad fixes the sidecar, three of us will fit in easily." _Fucking idiot, Ron Weasley…_

She mumbled a 'Mmm hmmm' into his shoulder, sending a shiver down his spine. He held on to the bike more tightly.

They took a few more laps before either of them spoke again.

"I'm glad they are using this guy to bring him back," he told her.

"Why? Because a broom wouldn't hold Hagrid?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, that too! But mainly 'cause Sirius would have wanted it, wouldn't he?" he asked. "I reckon he'd be the first to volunteer to bring Harry back if he was... still around, eh?"

Her tone was extremely soft when she replied. "It- it never occurred to me, Ron." She sniffed a little. "He would for sure."

Two more laps and they began to descend. The monster of a machine touched down with a rough jerk and sped on for yards before Ron could bring it to a stop. They left the woods as they had come, Ron dragging it beside him.

"Too loud, doubt Dad will be able to do something 'bout it though," he observed as Hermione pushed open the door to the toolshed and he followed. He heaved the motorbike back on its stand with a mighty pull and wiped his brows on the back of his hand.

"Let's go," called Hermione, "doubt you want your mum to know of our little adventure?" she snickered.

He walked out, and once he had closed the door behind him and watched Hermione walk away, the words came tumbling out. He wasn't sure what gave him the courage- or maybe he did.

"Will you come with me, Hermione?" he asked aloud, forcefully pushing down the doubts that were struggling to surface, "Y'know, after all this is done and behind us?" She paused and turned, looking at him with a strange sort of vulnerability in her eyes. They usually hid it well- both of them- for they weren't sure how to handle bringing out the feelings that bubbled just beneath the surface anyway. Ron scratched the back of his neck nervously. "I'll ask Harry if, y'know…"

She shook her head and blushed. "I don't think he'll be up for it," she replied haltingly, unaware that his heart was hammering away, thoughts running a thousand miles a minute, drawing crazy conclusions at the tiniest of her action.

"Eh? Yeah, right…" He scratched his neck some more and looked at his trainers. Oh, f_uck... What was he even thinking?_

"I - I mean, we could still do it, couldn't we?"

Ron turned so fast at her words that he could've sprained his neck.

..just you and I?" she continued nervously, "- you know, even if he doesn't come along?"

"I- yeah, yeah we could," he mumbled, meeting her eyes. "I'd love to," he mumbled in an undertone.

"Me too," she replied just as quietly. She lowered her lashes before looking up to meet his eyes again, the crimson of her cheeks making her look insanely pretty despite her windblown curls. They looked at each other for as long as Ron's flabbergasted brain took to catch up with reality, and then she turned away slowly and walked away.

...

_Thanks for reading!Hope you enjoyed it!_


	7. When it rains

_a/n Written for __**thelannscape**_

_**...**_

**M:When it rains/snows/storms**

Ron had been really looking forward to that particular Hogsmeade weekend. That was until, the obnoxious toad handed Harry a detention the very last minute, putting a dampener on all their plans. The poor bloke had been eagerly looking forward to stepping out of the castle, having missed the previous Hogsmeade weekend as well. All because of _that_ …

"Do'ya think we can feed her to the Giant Squid?" he asked, gritting his teeth and wringing his hands, picturing himself strangling the pink toad while a teary-eyed Harry cheered him on.

"I doubt," Hermione replied in utmost seriousness. "Moreover, Hagrid will be devastated if we poisoned the poor creature that way."

"Yeah," he intoned as they walked on, their feet taking them towards their favourite pub automatically. But just feet away from the door of the Three Broomsticks, he stopped short.

"Hermione I-"

"-don't feel like going in when Harry's missing it? Me too."

He looked at her, his anger melting away slowly at her sight, and grinned. He loved these moments when she seemed so in tune with his thoughts. There seemed to be rather a fair few of these recently.

"So?" he asked, suddenly gripped by the insane urge to hold her hand. He scratched the back of his neck nervously instead and looked around, worried that she'd read his secret thoughts if he met her eyes.

"Will you mind if I drop in at Scrivenshaft's and then, I don't know, go back to the castle?"

He shrugged casually and she nodded once and pulled out a small parchment from her sling bag.

Hermione bought herself some parchment, a few quills, a couple of books(_seriously?!_) and other tidbits while Ron lingered around the shop. Once she was done, they took the cobbled road running through the middle of the village, slowly making their way back to the castle. Now that he thought of it, he'd have rather liked to spend a few hours alone with her. But he had already agreed to her plan before and honestly, he didn't quite know how to suggest a change.

_What if she asked what he wanted to do instead?_

He could, under no circumstances, tell her what he wanted. It wasn't like the two of them hadn't visited Hogsmeade all by themselves, they had, and they'd enjoyed it a lot too. But back then it was different- back then, he didn't know how much he fancied her. His heart gave that same sort of tumble again, the one that made his insides feel all empty. She was his best friend.

_What if his stupid desires cost him her friendship too?_

"I don't know how we'll take our O. this year with this- this-"

"Treacherous toad, bumbling baboon's backside, stinking dung bomb…" he provided easily.

"Yeah, her," she agreed. "I'm worried she'll ensure Harry fails!"

"Nah, she won't- can't rather. They're overseen by ministry officials, a separate department altogether," he replied as they walked on.

As they crossed the cobbled road and reached the narrow alley that bent and turned after a few cottages and led up to the school, Ron's steps began to slow down. This was one of those conflicting moments when a part of him felt nervously excited about spending some alone time with Hermione, while another bit of him that was unquestioningly loyal to his best mate, wanted to kick his own arse.

"Ron?"

He realised that he had absolutely no clue what she had been saying, mesmerised as he was watching their feet walk side by side. Her steps were much smaller, and he had somehow managed to match her pace.

"You weren't listening, were you?" she asked, stopping and turning at him suddenly. A loud clap of thunder roared above them at that very instant, saving him. She let out a shriek as the skies seemed to open up and drench them in the sudden downpour.

"My books!" she screamed, cradling her bag and holding it against her chest, while Ron looked around helplessly for shelter, but they seemed to have reached an open spot; even the nearest tree was many meters away.

"Hold on!" he shouted and pulled off his cloak and held it over their heads. It was a good thing she was so much shorter than him, it worked pretty decently as a makeshift umbrella. As he grinned and turned to her, his heart gave that same tumble again. She was really, really close now, and drenched and had water droplets trickling down her curls.

_Blimey…_

She looked up and he could see her smile. There was the rare twinkle in her eyes that always made mad things happen inside his chest. "We should keep walking!" she yelled over the sound of the pouring rain, and he nodded.

His cloak- though huge when compared to hers- wasn't still big enough to cover their feet, and they splashed and slipped on the muddy road until Hermione decided that she wanted to wrap an arm around his waist.

"Can't risk falling down!" she stated, and Ron nodded once again for her proximity and water-drenched state had turned his brain into mush, wiped off his vocabulary until he was left with gibberish or Troll language.

With one hand holding her bag to her chest, the other wrapped snugly around Ron, Hermione guided them towards the castle while Ron ensured he kept them relatively less wet (as the cloak was practically soaked and dripping on them, but she didn't mention it and neither did he). His hands ached- the walk wasn't a very short one- and they were walking treacherously slow, but he couldn't care less. Hermione was as close to him as she'd ever been, and he knew it was a once-in-a-lifetime scenario anyway. He wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

Finally, they reached the school gates and once within Hogwarts' boundaries, Hermione pulled her hand away, leaving him feeling strangely lonely. It would be barmy if she held on, he knew. The others would see and make assumptions. A small part of him reminded that he wouldn't actually mind…

While he was caught up in his own head, however, Hermione had gotten down to work. A blast of hot air from her wand warmed him right through before she cast the same on herself.

He pulled down his soaking cloak and hung it on his arm and cleared his throat, hoping to say something witty. But Hermione was pouted to herself now, after unsuccessfully trying to dry her hair, and got busy tying it in a knot instead. Ron looked on, unable to tear his eyes off her.

She'd notice him and hex him into next week! He _knew_ it, but _bloody hell, she looked insanely adorable… _

"Ron?" she asked with a hint of a smile, bringing him back to his senses and he scratched his neck again while she eyed him curiously as she adjusted her bag.

Ron cleared his throat again. "Yeah?" he managed somehow.

"We should get something warm to drink," she suggested and he voiced his agreement with a muffled 'hmm'. His mind was still in a daze, her soaking image still etched in his eyes. For many nights now he knew, he'd dream of those water droplets trickling down her curls, remember in great detail the moisture that clung onto her lips and lashes, remember her slightly shivering form and feel her arms around him.

He noticed they were walking back to the dorm and for some reason, she'd grown quiet too.

Hermione came to an abrupt stop in a lonely corridor and he followed suit, just about to question her. But then she looked up and he forgot what he was going to say. He found himself wishing really hard that he knew Legilimency; he desperately wanted to know what she was thinking as she met his eyes.

But any and all thoughts drifted off to a hazy bliss when Hermione stood up on her toes and kissed him softly on his cheek. "Thank you, Ron," she whispered and smiled nervously before looking away quickly and walking away.


	8. When Words Aren't Enough

_a/n: _

_Happy New Year to each one of you!_

_Prompt Fic written for Jenn582 and shadefulbash. Hope all of you like it. _

* * *

**When Words Aren't Enough**

Hermione could sense Harry moving around in their kitchen area, the faint light from the candle seeping through the canvas curtain that separated their 'bedroom' from the dining area. She and Harry had decided to take shifts to keep watch, and Hermione knew that in a couple of hours it would be her turn. She knew she ought to grab some sleep but she couldn't.

It was hard to say if the sun had set already. From the faint light entering through one of the bedroom windows, she could see that it was beginning to get dark, the cacophony of the birds too had ceased to be replaced with the sinister silence of the forest. A little later she heard the rustling of dry leaves and twigs followed by Harry's movements. Soon there was the crackling of a fire outside and the faint rays of light seeped in through the canvas.

It was almost impossible to imagine that they had woken up at the Grimmauld Place that very morning, broken into the Ministry, managed to grab one Horcrux, gave away the location of their hideout and … almost lost Ron.

Dread forced it's way up and choked her in the process. Heaving, she pushed herself off her bed and walked over to the bunk bed where Ron lay. Hermione concentrated on the slight rise and fall of his chest before she collapsed silently on the floor next to his bed. Ron still wore the same blood-soaked shirt she had ripped off partially. His face had regained little colour and his skin appeared ghostly white, standing out starkly in contrast to his hair and the blood-stains on his shirt.

She wiped off the tears that escaped and just about managed to cut back her sob. The run-in at the Ministry has made it clear than ever that the Horcrux hunt was far more dangerous than anything the three of them had dealt with so far. It was no longer an adventure from the security of their school. A tiny mistake would cost them their life- _her_ mistake today has almost cost Ron his life.

She wasn't prepared this time. Neither for the war and definitely not to lose him.

It was harder to hold back the cry that escaped and she quickly hid her face in the crook of her arm and she bit down on her skin lest she woke Ron up.

…

His senses were a lot more alert albeit extremely exhausted. Ron shifted slightly, wincing at the stinging on his left arm and sensed rather heard her muffled sobs.

Carefully, Ron turned a smidge to his left and placed his right hand tenderly on hers.

She looked up in shock and even in the faint firelight seeping in through the canvas, Ron could see Hermione's tearstained face.

She appeared to be struggling to hold back her whimpers and he tugged on her arm for the stiffness of his left shoulder made it hard for him to pull himself up. Hermione scooted closer without meeting his gaze and then slowly gripped his hand and pressed her face to it, grazing his skin with her tears. Ron's heart twisted painfully; he hated to be the reason for her tears. She didn't quite have to voice out for him to know the reason for her anguish.

Disregarding his sore arm, Ron pushed himself off the bed, unable to hold back, however, the involuntary gasp that escaped him. She was beside him in a snap, supporting his back and sat beside him as he placed his feet down on the ground to sit at the edge of the bunk bed, his torso bent at an odd angle to avoid hurting his head on the bunk above, breathing erratically with the small effort. _He had to get better soon,_ he told himself sternly, _or he'd slow them down_.

He turned to face her, but Hermione had already left the room.

She returned moments later, her small beaded bag clasped between her fingers. Hermione lit a lone candle, and as he watched, she pulled out a few of his clothes from it before retrieving an old checkered buttondown.

She approached him and even before she could ask him to, he left the bed to kneel down on the floor. Hermione knelt down in front of him and wordlessly began unbuttoning his shirt. Ron watched her bit her lip struggle with her breathing as she carefully removed the torn and blood-stained shirt off him. She pulled out her wand, wordlessly conjuring a bowl and some warm water and a washcloth. With the silence broken only by her muffled sobs, she wiped off the dried stains of his blood from his arm and shoulder. He didn't stop her, knowing well that they both needed the cleansing of this wound.

Finally, she disappeared all the paraphernalia and with even more care she helped him put on the fresh one, leaving it unbuttoned at the front. Her frazzled hair lay limp and despite the state of his undress and the emotions these situations usually gave rise to, he couldn't think of anything apart from how broken she appeared.

He knew why. Ron would've never forgiven himself if any mistake of his had endangered her life, and although Ron would gladly take an Avada to keep her safe, he knew how guiltridden she'd be currently. Finally, Hermione pulled out her wand again and cast a warming spell on him.

When she was done, Hermione paused and met his gaze, unshed tears pooling in her eyes.

He didn't break her gaze. There were things that were _not_ to be worded out between them, not yet, and he hoped she would read them in his eyes. He hadn't learned to live without her- and he wouldn't have it any other way.

After many long minutes, he placed his right palm on her cheek and pulled her close, just a smidge as they couldn't cross that last threshold yet- _no matter how much he ached to_. He placed his lip to her forehead, knowing that she heard his heartbeats, heard the words he couldn't speak, yet.


End file.
